You call, and they all speak only Hebrew, but that’s okay, hey, you took Ivrit class in school.
Living the dream means you can walk to the Kosel whenever you want. It means looking out your window and seeing hills and valleys and Kever Shmuel Hanavi. Living the dream is walking streets named for characters in Tanach and dusty paths where you trip over stones a thousand years old. It’s kosher ice cream at the gas station and buses that wish you a chag sameach.
Living the dream means waking up early, too. Sometimes at six a.m. for a visa appointment (first come, first serve, office opens at eight). You dash down Shlomtzion HaMalkah at 7:42 a.m., and the line is snaking down the block. You fill in forms and ask a million questions, but no one else knows what they’re doing, either. You get a number and you wait your turn and people come and go and the guy at the desk tells you that your form is wrong before you’ve even slipped it under the glass separating the two of you.
It’s right, by the way. So he tells you your birth certificate isn’t valid. Go home and come back another time.
Living the dream involves spending many hours at the bank. You wait and wait and wait, and the guy at the counter is in a bad mood so he tells you to come tomorrow, he doesn’t deal with transactions. You come back and do the whole thing again and this time they tell you to call customer service. You call 100 times, no one answers, so you go back to the bank and start again.
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